


woodstock

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 1969, M/M, Woodstock, and capitalization and spell check is ignored, boys in hippie attire, lukes kinda a dick until he isnt, michael loses his virginity, there is smut at the end, this is old and bad, this is the 60s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:52:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>even the grass against his calloused feet is an exploration in itself; a freedom of his soul, after being so trapped in his tiny little room where he melted tabs on his tongue without his mother ever finding out. and it's so surreal -- woah -- it's actually woodstock, the rockin' 60s, the year that he may lose his virginity in one of those shag-wagons with the babes and the drugs or he may overdose before then but it will still be, like, super cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	woodstock

**Author's Note:**

> posted on my wattpad but emma is a piece of shit and bullied me into posting it here (my wattpad is billiejoeclifford lmao)

even the grass against his calloused feet is an exploration in itself; a freedom of his soul, after being so trapped in his tiny little room where he melted tabs on his tongue without his mother ever finding out. and it's so surreal -- woah -- it's actually woodstock, the rockin' 60s, the year that he may lose his virginity in one of those shag-wagons with the babes and the drugs or he may overdose before then but it will still be, like, super cool. 

sea foam scans the heard of teenagers and adults and even some toddlers with his very own slightly dialated pupils and he swears he sees the prettiest bambi blue eyes he's ever seen, with those ripped bell-bottoms slung low on his lips and that fringey vest left open, hips scuplted with a tiny bit of newly-eighteen belly and his lips are blue with the dye of a fresh sheet of psychedelics. day one and he swears he's in love, but there's a doubt that a stubbly seventeen year old that managed to scrape tickets because his friend's mom was pregnant would ever get close to some sort of hippie god. 

a soft sigh depresses his chest, a breath (he had no clue he was even holding) being let out when a swarm of girls in their flowey dresses and hair frizzed in a mixture of 'just fucked' and humidity swarms the god, the prey, and the tye dye kitten just looks away; it's too painful to bear. but when a pretty blonde with almost the same exact ski-slope nose and slightly darker eyes is friendly enough to welcome him and drag him to her friends, maybe not all hope is lost.

maybe he won't get to feel tall, lean, and handsome balls deep in him, but he might get some action from possible athena herself. why is everyone at woodstock so goddamn pretty?

"close your mouth; you'll catch flies. and unless you've got some intense munchies, i don't think you'd like that," the girl chuckles, using dainty fingers with the grime of ash glowing between the lined prints of them to reach to set his jaw back into the correct place.

he can't help but let out a giggle himself, a tiny one, not only because he's happy and he's free but because he can hear one of her brunette friends mumbling about how it's not worth it if jim morrison isn't here.

a part of him speaks out, and his eyes are still trained on blonde boy with a longing of the unknown.

"it's always worth it, y'know, sex and drugs and music and — i could get used to this."

it's the first time they've all heard him speak and the crew seems surprised by his voice, untainted and untouched with a bit of a feminine twist to it that he's grown to love about himself. he picks at the frayed string of his light weight henley that seems to go on for miles, laughing a bit at himself.

"so, what's your name," says the same voice, a bit closer and he notices how her voice is a bit more slurred that orginally thought.

"michael, clifford. michael clifford," is all he throws back.

☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀

it's when the sun starts to simmer down to a warm pink glow, or maybe it's just the acid, but that's when the fun really starts.

he's spotted hippie god at least three times by now, staring at him one of those, and the giddy feeling in his chest just won't quit when he finally realizes that the boy with the eyes and the body and the hair and that really fucking cool bandana that he wouldn't mind tying around his own forehead is making his way towards him while tim hardin's voice is serenading the crowd (which is mostly passed-out naked couples and a few sleeping beauties). day one and he's made some new friends, gotten lost in a sea of drunken strangers, fallen in love three times over, and seen some idols in the flesh.

perhaps now he can make some love, not war.

well, not so fast. it's the first introductory grumble of the other boy that has michael weak at the knees, eyelids hooded in a subconsious attempt to be sexy. he really only notices that when the blonde, luke, let's out a chuckle and his pupils are normal sized. hm, weird.

it is woodstock after all.

but he doesn't question it; instead gets lost in sapphire that makes his heart melt and burst at the same time, the shredded fringe attached to the other's vest brushing michael's arm when he touches his shoulder to point to where he's parked. it's one of the newer volts-wagons, with a few young adults drinking and smoking on the hood and there are obvious peace signs sprayed on the rusty metal. it's perfect, honestly. even if it would be looked down upon at first glace.

he's interuptted by the loud screech of an unproperly plugged in amplifier, luke's attention diverting from his green stained lips; it would meld perfectly with the dissapearing tint of blue left on the taller boy's own. what a shame, or a waste of lip, but the perfect fingering of santana has him bobbing his head and then luke's offering to give him a lift onto his shoulders and the only thing michael can do is nod with his pinpointed pupils and a blush. a scrawny seventeen year old; he has to remember, remind himself that that's really all he is, because he feels on top of the world.

he's watching luke from birds eye view, placing an acid tab on his tongue with his eyes closed and michael can't help but close his own, his grip on luke's hair tightening a bit as the drums of soul sacrifice pull him in, because woodstock may as well not even be on the same planet. it's so full of excitement, full of energy and everything his mother would hate. but, fuck her, because this is awesome. pure joy is leaking out of his pores because he's on the shoulders of a slightly tipsy, slightly high, and an extremely cute boy and he's not too sober himself, with keyboards and drums and guitars and other's voices ringing in his ears. his hands let go and he might be flying in a world of babes and gays.

that's totally okay with him.

but really, having your hands buried in this god's hair would be okay with anyone, he thinks. unless you're completely insane, totally lost in an asinine world.

☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀

his heart is beating out of his chest when they're falling on the cushioned bottom of luke's station wagon, shag-wagon, or as luke calls it; the love mobile. a smile is painted on his face when two fingers reach up with a rolled paper between them, a joint, and it's stuck between his lips with ease. a puff is blown out of his mouth, followed by a small cough and he's getting it snatched by luke, taking a puff and stomping it out with the sole of his perfect boots attatched to his perfect legs and everythings perfect.

his heart pounds even more when he feels lips on his own, smoke being passed to his own mouth and a giggle is exchanged by the two, tongues on fire as they dance with foggy-white accenting their stained, swollen lips and the blush on both of their cheeks. 

he's dreaming, he has to be, but he knows that's not true when the sound of teeth clacking brings him back to reality and hippie god is on top of him, straddling him, rubbing circles into the palms of his hands that are clasped with his. michael notices out short and stubby his fingers are compared to luke's, which are fully inveloping his own, and he decides that he wouldn't have it any other way.

then luke's hands are ripping at his henley, the thin fabric tearing a bit; his soft belly makes him insecure, but maybe that's just luke's gaze. michael can't help but attack his lips again, sucking at his tongue in a way that makes a growl emit from the other boy's throat. it's different than anything he's ever witness, makes his jeans tent a bit and he's got luke lazily grinding on him, shrugging off the vest that hides the rest of his hipbones and that toned stomach.

is it weird that michael could stare at him all day? probably, but he doesn't need to know that. luke is leaning down again to nip at the soft skin of the column of michael's throat, adam's apple bobbing with pupils blown wide; it's not just the drugs, he can tell you that.

he can feel the blood rising on his collarbone as luke sucks a hickey there, teeth scraping the skin. it stings in the best way, makes his head spin and he can't help but let out a breathy noise that he didn't even know he had in him. michael threads his fingers through luke's hair as he does, back arching a bit before he's scrambling to get on top. it's something he never knew he even had in him, a new found, slightly dominant side that perhaps only comes out when his lips are raw and he's got patches of purple-red-blue sucked into the flesh of his jaw, trailing towards his chest in a sloppy manner.

it's his turn now, and he's got himself unbuckling luke's jeans with a clumsy forte with one hand as he has the other one's fingers in his mouth, tongue swirling around his index and middle finger. he accidently bites his tongue, pulling a face to stop himself from hissing at the sharp pain. no pain, no gain, right?

he's planning on giving luke a show. something to remember, when he sucks in a breath and undoes his own jeans, a bit easier this time, slipping his fingers down the back of them to tease at his hole. it's hot his cock twitches, a sort of anticipated sigh leaving his lips. the truth is that he's never does this before. michael can really see it in the headlines now; seventeen-year-old virgin looses his innocence to eighteen year old acid-head-slash-sex-god. isn't that embarrassing.

luke's hands wander until they're settled on the curve of michael's waist, warm in a way that pushes him to slip in an index finger slowly, a sort-of moan and half-squeal mixture leaving parted lips. he lets himself wiggle out of his jeans so they're creating little marks on the outside of his thighs, luke's hands now resting on the round part of is bum, rocking him back and forth. the way he's fucking down on his finger's makes him try to grab hold of himself, just to touch, but luke just slaps his hand away with a hard gaze that makes michael melt.

it's about two am and he can see the dim glow of the lights on the stage through the fogged up window, it's so cliche.

michael's bracing himself for another stretch, relaxing so he can nudge in another finger before scissoring them lightly. he wishes that there was, like, an instruction manual or something. but the only thing he can do is hope luke can't see the red-hot blush of his cheeks. he hears the gravely chuckle and closes his eyes tight, cringing when the words come out.

"you're a virgin; aren't you, sunshine?" his voice matches his everything perfectly, and michael's about to faint. he's not sure if it's because he hasn't had water or food in the past 24 hours or if he's just way too embarrassed.

"yeah," michael squeaks. it's a bit weird to say when he's got two fingers in himself knuckle deep, a stranger beneath him.

"well then, it's not the sixties for nothing."

michael can't help smile a bit, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the bottom of luke's van when he feels the tip of his cock nudge against his entrance, a soft whimper leaving his lips.

luke's got a killer grip on his hips, letting michael sink onto his cock with the same blush on his cheeks from before, breathing out the small pain and wiping at the beads of sweat on his forehead.

"you're doing fine, sweetheart."

michael swears his heart melts and luke's cock brushes something that makes him rock forward and back, makes him lift himself up and he want to buck his hips but luke's hands are restraining that. he really hopes he has bruises on his hips in the morning. like a badge of honor; maybe he'll show calum, that'd be cool.

luke's thrusting up into him as well, meeting him halfway because michael's not sure if he can take much; his pale thighs are already shaking, nails digging into luke's shoulders as the dirty sound of skin against skin fills his ears. it's almost better than jimi's guitar riffs, but nothing can really beat jimi.

he can feel his cock twitch and a half-hearted groan leaves his lips as he comes, pooling between lukes abs and his tummy. it's a sight he can get used to. actually, this moment is something he can get used to, even if his cock is fattening up again, the tip an angry shade of red. 

it also turns out that luke has incredible stamina, because he has time to come yet again before luke is spilling into him. it'd be disgusting if it was anyone else, but luke's not just anyone to michael and he can't help but nuzzle into his neck, falling asleep to the soft chatter of those outside of the van and the sound of bonfires crackling.

☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀

it's pretty shitty in the morning, though. when michael gets kicked out of the van after a quick good-morning-now-leave kiss from luke. at least he's nice enough to offer a messy-knit sweater that's all sort of colors, but he can hear luke's friends laugh at him when he's got a slight limp to his step. it's the last day of woodstock and michael's almost sure it's the shittiest. everything sucks and michael can't wait to cry to calum about the sexy asshole that stole his virginity and laughed at him the next morning.

no one knows when luke and michael share one last kiss in the crowd, jefferson airplane thrumming in the distance and luke slips michael his address, with a small "write me".


End file.
